Like a handprint on my heart
by onceinabluemoon0013
Summary: Irene Adler meets Molly Hooper on a Thursday, one week after her fifteenth birthday.
1. Chapter 1

**This is a prompt fill for the wonderful canibecandid on Tumblr. It was getting too long, so I've decided to cut it into two parts. The second one is half-way written, so it shouldn't be too long before I post the end. To all of my lovely Sherlolly followers (which is all of you, I think), this will eventually be a Sherlolly story, but it's more of a Molly x Irene story. Fair warning: Sherlock doesn't appear in this chapter at all.**

**That being said, this is probably my favorite thing I have ever written. It's taken a lot out of me emotionally, so please give it a read and tell me what you think!**

**Disclaimer: I own nada. Rated T for language and sexual references.**

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><p><em>Who can say if I've been changed for the better?<em>

_But, because I knew you, I have been changed for good._

XXXXX

Irene Adler meets Molly Hooper on a Thursday, one week after her fifteenth birthday.

Molly stumbles into the small clearing on the outskirts of the school grounds, stopping when she sees Irene sitting there. Irene quickly swipes her eyes to hide any evidence of her crying. Irene never cries (_At least not where others can see her_).

Observing Irene's distressed state, Molly walks over to the other girl and plops down beside her. She pulls a handkerchief from a pocket in her jacket (a bright pink and green concoction that looks like a unicorn coughed it up) and hands it over. Drawing her knees up to her chest, Molly keeps her gaze forward, giving Irene some semblance of privacy to pull herself together.

"Why did the person fail the cadaver lab?"

Caught off guard, Irene turns towards the shorter girl. "Huh?"

"He just couldn't cut it!"

Molly giggles at her own joke, the sound of her laughter infectious. Irene can't help the chuckle that escapes her lips, although it sounds more like a half-sob to her ears. She takes a deep breath. "That was…." She can't really come up with a proper descriptor.

"Bloody awful, yeah, I know. But it was supposed to make you laugh, so it worked, you see!" Molly smiles brightly, a ray of sunshine on an otherwise dreary afternoon. Gazing at her out of the corner of her eye, Irene grins in response.

Shifting closer, Molly bites her lip. "Listen…. Are you alright? I heard what those other girls said to you back there…."

Irene waves her off. "Yeah, I'll be fine. It's just…."

"Fuck them," Molly replies, so calmly that Irene wonders if she misheard. Only the slightly pink tinge to Molly's cheeks gives away that she hasn't. Irene decides then and there that she quite likes Molly Hooper. The two teenagers lock eyes, a silent understanding passing between them.

"I'm Molly, by the way," she continues, unnecessarily. She holds out a hand.

"Irene."

XXXXX

Their friendship blossoms rather quickly after that.

To anyone else, the relationship doesn't make sense. While Molly is shy and tries to blend in with the wallpaper, Irene loves being noticed by everyone. Irene prefers to study politics and the intricacies of social interactions, but 'Morbid Molly', as she is known by their peers, favors chemistry and anatomy. Irene knows what she wants, and how to get it. Molly is content to sit back and see what happens. They share no common interests, other than an apparent distaste for their fellow students.

To the pair of them, however, none of those differences matter. They are two outsiders, brought together by chance. (_"Fate," Molly says one day. But then, Molly's always been the more optimistic one._)

Molly takes it upon herself to make sure Irene finishes her classwork, occasionally forcing the dark-haired beauty to sit down and study. Irene, in turn, drags Molly to a variety of parties, dances, and the like. She teaches Molly about confidence (_"Nothing is more attractive than a woman who knows she's amazing. Remember that, Molly."_). Molly shows Irene that sometimes acting weak can be a powerful weapon (_"Make them underestimate you, Irene. It gives you the element of surprise."_)

The first time Irene lets Molly borrow one of her dresses and fixes her hair in the latest style, interested boys flock to the petite girl, and she spends the entire evening occupied on the dance floor. Irene just smirks at the joy on her best friend's face.

Later that evening, they are lying on Molly's bed, fingers interlocked as they face each other. Irene listens as Molly waxes poetic about Colin, the first boy who had asked her to dance. Molly is detailing how green his eyes were as they stared into hers, and Irene feels an unfamiliar twinge in her heart.

She feels like she's losing something she never realized she wanted to begin with.

XXXXX

Irene Adler realizes that she prefers sex with women when she is seventeen.

Molly Hooper is the first person she confides in.

Instead of the shock or horror she is expecting (_And, even knowing Molly as well as she does, she still expects one of those reactions)_, Molly embraces her, squeezing her tightly. She listens as Irene confesses her fear that her parents won't approve, and that she'll be disowned when they find out.

"Fuck them," Molly states quietly. (_Those two words have become a mantra of sorts, shared only by the two of them._) "Where's the confident, sexy Irene that I call my best friend? She doesn't give a damn about what anyone else thinks." Molly beams up at her, grasping Irene's hands between her smaller ones.

And just like that, Molly calms her worries. Her heartbeat stops racing and her breathing slows. (_Molly Hooper accepts her as she is. Who cares about anyone else?_) They spend the rest of the afternoon talking. Molly asks thousands of questions. How did she come to this realization? When is she going to tell her family? How will she come out to the other students at school?

"Is there any special girl who's caught your fancy?" Molly teases, brushing her shoulder against Irene's.

"No one in particular," she replies, a devilish smirk crossing her lips. "You know me, _Mon chaton_. I like to keep my options open."

It's the first lie she's ever told to Molly Hooper.

XXXXX

Molly and Irene surprise no one when they announce they are going to the same university.

Of course, the gossipmongers rejoice over their living arrangement. The girls opt to rent a flat together, a small two-bedroom five minutes from campus. Whispers follow them throughout their small town, rumors of their not-so-secret love affair passing between the townsfolk. Molly just laughs and rolls her eyes.

Molly's mum takes them furniture shopping, and Molly radiates excitement as she puts her arm through Irene's and pulls her through the shops. Irene tries to keep an air of casual indifference, but doesn't quite manage.

On the way back home, Molly and her mum are singing along to the radio, loudly and slightly off-key. Irene gazes out the window, the sky a mixture of pink and orange as the sun sets. She glances over at Molly, energetically mouthing into a hairbrush as the song swells.

Irene doesn't think she's ever been happier.

XXXXX

Molly and Irene acclimate to university life fairly easily.

They quickly fall into a routine. Most days, they grab a quick breakfast and then make the short trek to campus. Molly chooses to study chemistry and biology, while Irene focuses on psychology and political science. After class, they grab takeaway on the walk home and spend the rest of the evening finishing up any coursework.

Molly finds a job working part-time in her biology professor's research laboratory, while Irene discovers that her aptitude for persuasion can be very profitable when used on the right people. If Molly disapproves, she says nothing.

Fridays, however, are Irene's favorite day of the week. The pair of them stay home, Molly curled up on the sofa with the latest fantasy novel, and her glasses perched haphazardly on the tip of her nose.

Irene sits beside her, pretending that she's watching the television and not the way her best friend sighs in happiness when she reads a particularly fascinating passage.

Sometimes, they stay up until the wee hours of the morning, talking about nothing and everything. Eventually, Molly falls asleep nestled into Irene's side, her breaths raising goose bumps on Irene's skin.

XXXXX

Things change drastically, like they always do, during their final term.

Molly has just been accepted into medical school, and Irene couldn't be any happier for her.

She takes Molly out to their favorite pub to celebrate, and the small woman gets a little too excited, downing three shots before they've been there fifteen minutes. After the second time she barely manages to catch Molly from sliding out of her seat, Irene decides it's time to go home.

Irene retrieves their coats and ushers Molly out the door. The night is chilly, and Molly huddles closer for warmth. Despite the cold, the sky is perfectly clear, stars illuminating the city streets as they stroll back to the flat. Molly occupies herself trying to identify the constellations. Molly's always been rather giggly when she's had too much to drink, and tonight is no exception.

"There's the dog, Irene! Do you see it?!" She points up, cackling and blinking her eyes. Irene suspects her vision may be a bit blurry at the moment.

"Sure, Molly. Of course," she says, humoring her pissed flat mate. Molly continues to babble until they're back in their small flat. Irene sits her down on the sofa and fetches her some water.

Molly gulps it down greedily, not noticing when some of it drips down her front. Irene sighs and leads her to her bedroom. "Time for bed, _Mon chaton._"

Molly groans in protest before clumsily reaching for the hem of her shirt and trying to remove it. It becomes stuck around her head, and Molly's arms flail around helplessly until Irene takes pity on her and assists.

Once she is safely in her pajamas and sitting on the side of the bed, Molly grins goofily up at Irene. She reaches out, grabbing Irene's hand and pulling her down so that the two women are at eye level, Irene kneeling on the floor. Molly leans forward and plants a quick, chaste kiss to Irene's lips. Irene gasps out in reply, drawing back slightly so she can stare into Molly's brown eyes.

"What…?"

"I love you, Irene," Molly whispers so softly, Irene feels the words more than hears them. "You're my best friend. You know that, right?" She gazes at Irene earnestly, her bottom lip jutting out. Irene finds her expression absolutely adorable.

"Of course, Molly. You're my best friend, too."

Molly smiles and lies down, her soft brown curls fanning out against the pillow. Irene stays on the floor until Molly's breathing slows. She shakily stands up and marches to the door, pulling it shut behind her.

She leans one hand against the outside, gently stroking the dark wood. "I love you, too, _Mon chaton,_" she mutters quietly before heading to her own room, the sweet taste of Molly still on her lips.

XXXXX

Irene begins distancing herself from Molly after that night.

She goes out frequently, spending more and more time in the underground world in which she is creating a name for herself. (_They call her The Woman, and Irene pretends she doesn't notice the jealous glares the other girls shoot her. She lifts her head and saunters off._)

Sometimes, she stays out all night, ignoring Molly's frantic text messages.

_Where are you? – Mx _

_Are you alright? – Mx_

_Have I done something wrong? – Mx _

_Call me when you get this. – Mx_

_Please. – Mx_

Molly finally confronts her, one Friday the month before they graduate.

"You're heading out again?" Molly questions, blocking the door as Irene attempts to slip past her.

"Yes, Molly. Now, if you'll excuse me, I don't want to be late." She reaches behind Molly to push open the door, but Molly stands firm.

"But… it's Friday," Molly retorts, failing to hide the hurt in her voice. Irene refuses to make eye contact. She doesn't think she could stand to see the disappointment in those brown orbs.

"Yes, I know." Her tone is biting, as if by wounding Molly she can ease some of her own heartache. (_It only causes her more._) "Please, Molly," she says quietly, her shoulders sagging.

"Oh, okay." Molly's eyebrows scrunch together in confusion as she tries to make sense of the situation. Irene knows that Molly has no idea of the anguish she is causing. She puts a hand on Molly's shoulder, a simple gesture meant to bridge the gap between them, expanding every day.

"Let's have a girls' night tomorrow. How about it?" She grips Molly's chin between two fingers, her blood-red nails looking luminescent against the milky skin there.

"Al-alright. I suppose so." Molly's attempt at a half-smile falls flat, but Irene doesn't say anything. Instead, she brushes past her flat mate and out into the hallway. She waits until the door closes before letting out a deep sigh.

XXXXX

Irene takes out her frustration on her client, a married businessman with a ruddy face and an atypical taste in extramarital activities. (_Irene never mentions that his wife is a client as well._)

He is currently cowering before her, wearing only a pair of thin cotton trousers while Irene strokes her favorite riding crop lazily across his cheekbones. Sweat trickles down his body as he stares down at the floor. Irene spares him a disinterested glance.

"I believe that's all for today. You may leave."

"Y-yes, Mistress." He scrambles away, breathing heavily, though Irene knows it isn't out of fear.

She grabs her phone from the table, perusing through the photographs she had taken during the encounter. Bright red lips light up in a sinful smirk as she saves them. One never knows when such things would become useful.

A sudden prickling at the back of her neck has her on high alert, and she quickly closes her phone and locks it. Lifting her head slowly, her gaze comes across a slight, well-dressed man leaning casually against the door frame. Although she's never been one to believe in good versus evil (_There are far too many shades of grey for the world to ever be that black and white)_, Irene thinks that Satan himself would fall at this man's feet.

When he notices her attention, his mouth quirks up in a Cheshire cat grin. He meanders towards her, taking his time as if he knows she won't move away. (_She won't. She is far too intrigued._)

He takes her hand in one of his, and she is struck by how small he actually is. He carries himself with such confidence, clearly accustomed to being the center of attention. It's a feeling Irene understands well.

Pulling her hand to his mouth, he presses a delicate kiss to her knuckles before releasing her. Irene remains motionless, keeping her eyes locked with his. She has the uncanny feeling that he is testing her, waiting for her to break eye contact first. His eyebrow lifts minutely, and Irene mentally pats herself on the back. This man is clearly not impressed easily.

"Yes, you will do nicely, indeed. How would you like to work for me? Put those… _talents_ of yours to a more lucrative use?" He holds out his hand this time, allowing her to make the next move.

She grasps it firmly between both of hers. "Irene Adler. But most of my clients know me as The Woman."

"Moriarty. James Moriarty."

XXXXX

Molly Hooper and Irene Adler part ways for the first time on a Sunday.

Grey clouds block the sun, giving the day a gloomy air reminiscent of the day they met. It was rather cool for May, and Molly wears a brightly patterned jumper (_pink and green, just like that first day_) to combat the chill.

A black car pulls up to the pavement in front of their building, and Irene dons her favorite coat before turning to look at Molly. Tear tracks mar Molly's normally rosy cheeks, black lines of make-up running from her eyelashes to her chin.

"I thought I demonstrated the importance of waterproof mascara, _Mon chaton_," she chides softly, cupping Molly's face. The other woman sniffles, brushing her tears with one hand, although they are quickly replaced with more.

Molly mumbles, "Y-you d-did." She gazes up at Irene through watery eyes, pleading with her to stay. "Y-you don't h-have to go, Irene." Her words are a ploy, one last attempt to convince Irene to change her mind.

"I want to. I _need_ to. We've discussed this many times, Molly."

"I know. It's just… we've been inseparable for so long. I don't know how to be myself without you anymore." Irene hides the way her heart clenches at the confession, wanting to surrender to Molly's gentle appeals. Instead, she tightens her grip on Molly's cheeks and gives her a sad smile.

"Do you know why I call you _Mon chaton_?"

Molly draws back slightly in surprise. Obviously, that is not what she was expecting to hear. "N-no. I know it means 'my kitten.' I looked it up once. I assume it has something to do with my being harmless and friendly all the time." Irene sighs and closes her eyes. Opening them, she presses her forehead to Molly's so that the shorter woman has no choice but to stare directly at her.

"Molly! I want you to listen very carefully, because what I am about to say is quite possibly the most important thing I will ever tell you. Okay?" At Molly's slight nod, she continues. "I call you that because, while you seem meek and cute, when riled, your claws come out. It is the most fascinating phenomenon I have ever witnessed."

Irene takes a deep breath. "You are the strongest person I know, Molly Hooper. You don't need anyone, me least of all. You are going to attend medical school, earn your degree, and become the country's top forensic pathologist. Do you understand?"

Instead of answering, Molly's arms wrap around Irene's waist as she clutches desperately to her best friend. Irene understands how she feels. They have promised to keep in touch, but this feels more like a goodbye than a new beginning. Their relationship has been irrevocably altered, and Irene mourns the loss of what they once had.

Before she regrets it, Irene pulls away, kissing Molly's temple briefly before striding towards the car. She turns back once more, committing the image of Molly to memory. The two women smile at each other, and then Irene pivots, sliding into the passenger seat.

It is this vision, Molly's hand raised in a silent goodbye as tear drops trickle onto the pavement, that stays with Irene for the next five years.


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's Part II! This is now going to be three parts, as my love for this AU knows no bounds. I've never really written Irene before this, so I hope everyone is liking my interpretation of her! I've found that I really like writing from her perspective, even though she is so different from me!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my laptop and my ideas. (Although credit for this one goes to the lovely canibecandid on Tumblr, who requested this piece.)**

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><p>He smiles so jovially, always ready with an inappropriate joke or witty retort. He can be so likeable, that, if he wanted, he could make an entire room of astrophysicists believe the sun orbits the earth.<p>

He's also extraordinarily evil.

He seemingly makes his decisions on a whim, never revealing his hand until it is too late for his victims to do anything to prepare themselves. Once everything plays out, however, it becomes blatantly obvious that he knows exactly what he is doing. He understands how one action leads to three or four downstream, much like how upending one domino can topple an entire set. His targets are left reeling in his wake.

Irene envies the way he can separate himself so fully from other people, as though he hasn't a care in the world. She wishes she could stop herself from caring so damn much. She wishes she could stop hearing the small voice in the back of her mind (which sounds eerily similar to Molly's), constantly questioning her decisions. (_Come home, Irene, _it whispers. _This isn't where you belong.)_

Regardless of her unsolicited conscience, Irene finds herself enjoying her new profession. Under Moriarty's patronage, she travels all over the world, deriving her own pleasure from dominating others. Paris, Los Angeles, Tokyo. Her life is an endless stream of international flights, shopping, and sex, with a dash of blackmail thrown in for good measure.

In fact, the only regret Irene has is her relationship with Molly.

At first, they make an effort to talk on the telephone at least twice a week, sending text messages and emails more often. But as the days pass, and Irene realizes that Molly will never fully understand her decisions, she stops answering Molly's calls, her excuse always that she was occupied with a client.

Their conversations are filled with terse silence instead of nonstop chattering, the words left unspoken between them digging a knife through their friendship. (_I miss you. I need you. I love you._)

Irene is so busy that, sometimes, she leaves a text message unanswered for days, only remembering when she is alone at night, pondering whether all of this is worth losing Molly Hooper.

She feels empty, like a part of herself is missing, and huddles further into the soft sheets. She falls asleep thinking of Molly, and her dreams are haunted by brown eyes and thin lips painted into a blinding smile.

XXXXX

Molly Hooper breaks Irene Adler's heart on a Tuesday.

She calls, giggly and bubbly, more excited than Irene has heard in years. She realizes almost instantaneously what that means.

(_"This strange fellow came into the morgue today, Irene! You should have seen him! He knew _everything_ about me, just from one glance! His name's Sherlock, and he calls himself a 'consulting detective', whatever that is, and…."_)

Irene grins half-heartedly as Molly prattles on (_even though they are miles apart, Irene still pastes a smile on for Molly_). Molly's happiness warms her insides, even if she can feel her heart shattering as she grasps what Molly is not saying. (_At least out loud. Irene's always been able to hear everything Molly leaves unspoken._)

Molly is in love with some man named Sherlock Holmes, and Irene hates her for it. (_She could never hate Molly Hooper._)

Finally, _finally_, Molly sucks in a deep breath, having finally exhausted herself singing the praises of the mysterious new man. "Sorry, I may have gotten a bit carried away there…," she declares apologetically.

Irene chuckles. "It's fine, Molly. I'm glad to hear you are happy. I hope he deserves you."

(_He doesn't. No one will ever be good enough for Molly Hooper._)

XXXXX

Irene's travels bring her back to London, nearly half a decade after she left.

She surprises Molly at her small flat, and the two women stay up late into the night, binging on mint chocolate chip ice cream and cheap wine.

The conversation naturally leads up to the question Irene is dying to ask.

"So what's up with you and this Sherlock character? Have you shagged him yet?" Irene teases, but her shoulders tense as she awaits Molly's answer.

Irene frowns when Molly's eyes drift downward, her smile faltering. "It's… it's not like that, Irene. We're just friends. Well, acquaintances, really…."

"Molly?" Irene pushes. Molly needs to confide in someone, as she obviously does not have anyone else in her life to do so.

"Well, it's just…. I asked him out for a coffee, right? And he didn't even realize!" Molly's voice lowers several octaves, ostensibly in imitation of Sherlock's. "'Black two sugars, please. I'll be upstairs!' I mean, can you believe that?!" Molly sighs quietly. "I really don't think I'm his type, Irene," she admits quietly. Irene's heart breaks just a little more.

She reaches for Molly's hand, squeezing lightly. "Fuck him." The corner of Molly's mouth tilts up at the altered version of the familiar phrase. "You deserve someone who would give you the stars, who realizes what a treasure you truly are. If he doesn't, then I'm seriously beginning to doubt that massive intellect you were telling me about."

Molly beams, enveloping Irene in a fierce hug for several minutes. Finally, she pulls away slowly. The two women stare into each other's eyes, a few inches the only space between them. Irene's heart begins pounding erratically. Her gaze travels down to Molly's lips briefly before returning to her eyes, and she sees… _something _flicker on Molly's face.

Before she has a chance to name it, however, the moment is broken and Molly is releasing her. The loss of Molly's warmth sends a chill cascading through her body, but Irene doesn't think she imagines the slight blush in Molly's cheeks as she turns away.

Molly loudly clears her throat. "Let's finish this wine, then, shall we?" She grins brightly, and Irene nods in agreement, her pulse still racing.

They fall asleep curled against each other on the sofa.

Early the next morning, Irene catches a flight to Beijing, and the two women part ways once again.

XXXXX

She meets Kate during one of her trips to New York City. The attraction is mutual and instantaneous. Kate is fun and sexy, and she agrees to accompany Irene on her travels, even participating in some of Irene's schemes.

With Kate, the loneliness ebbs, just a bit, and Irene smiles more in her presence than anyone else's in recent memory, with the exception of Molly, of course. (_Molly Hooper is always the exception._)

Even so, Kate isn't stupid. Her intelligence is one of her most endearing qualities.

"What's her name?" she asks one night. They are cuddled together in another fancy flat in another glamorous city that Irene doesn't care to name.

"Who?" Irene replies quizzically.

"The woman you're always thinking about. Your face lights up every time your mobile beeps with a new message from her."

Kate's beautiful grey eyes peer at her questioningly, one eyebrow raised in curiosity and acceptance. Irene divulges the entire affair, from the day Molly Hooper staggered into her life to their most recent visit.

When Irene finishes, she feels emotionally drained, but Kate gazes at her with understanding, not pity. She places a gentle kiss on Irene's lips and strokes her hair.

XXXXX

"I have a new rival," Moriarty tells her offhandedly one day. "He's more cunning than the others. A _real_ adversary."

Irene spares him a glance, but continues applying her lipstick. This has become a routine, of sorts. Moriarty chats, Irene pretends to listen.

"This one will require a more delicate approach, however. Draw him in, intrigue him enough that he comes searching for me on his own." Moriarty pauses and draws a breath, but his next words fill Irene's veins with ice water. "His name is Sherlock Holmes. Fascinating bloke! I will enjoy destroying everything he holds dear."

Irene closes her eyes, praying to a deity she doesn't believe in that Molly will remain unscathed, untainted by the poison that is James Moriarty. There is a reason she has neglected to introduce them. James devours innocents like her every day.

"Your _friend_, Molly Hooper, she's acquainted with him, yes?"

Irene's eyes flutter open, taking in Moriarty's devious grin. "I believe so, yes," she replies coolly, working doubly hard to keep the turmoil out of her expression. "Why?"

"I may just have to pay her a visit. See if she wouldn't mind introducing us!" His hands clap together gleefully. "Ooh, this is going to be fun!"

XXXXX

She goes about her work as usual, although she always listens whenever Moriarty mentions Sherlock Holmes and his plans to ruin the detective. She pays extra attention to any mention of Molly and Moriarty's association with her.

She cringes over Molly's naiveté as Moriarty recounts how he approached Molly through her blog (_"Kittens? How utterly juvenile."_), and that they have been out on several dates. She gives Molly a mental high-five, however, when Moriarty tells her that Molly forced him to watch Glee and that Molly's cat attacked him when Molly introduced them. (_Toby has always been such a smart feline._)

She finally breathes easier when she learns that Moriarty is tiring of his game with Molly. He stages a meeting with Sherlock, where he quickly gathers that the consulting detective is completely unmoved by Molly's charms. He stops seeing her, turning his attentions to Sherlock's flat mate, a doctor named John Watson.

Still, Irene realizes that any contact Molly has with Sherlock Holmes could place her in greater danger, so she confronts Moriarty with a ruse of her own. She prays Molly will forgive her one day. (_Molly always forgives her._)

"How about we give Sherlock a real woman to fawn over?"

Moriarty's smirk is the only answer she needs.

XXXXX

She calls Molly a few days later, Kate pacing anxiously nearby. (_"Are you sure you want to do this? She may never speak to you again."_)

Irene ignores her concern and moves to another room, shutting the door behind her.

"Irene?" Molly answers, though her voice is scratchy and low.

"Sorry did I wake you?"

"No…. Well, yes, but it's fine. What's going on?" Irene can hear movement through the connection as Molly situates herself, followed by the click of a light being switched on.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "Sherlock Holmes, he's a private detective, right?"

"Well, consulting detective, according to him, but essentially, yes. Why do you ask?"

"I need his help with a problem. What's he like?" Irene can practically see Molly's eyebrows scrunch together through the phone.

"Is everything okay? I could introduce you, I guess…."

"No, I'd rather you not get involved in this, Molly. It's too dangerous."

Molly gasps audibly into the speaker, composing herself for a moment before replying. "Is it… bad, Irene?" she asks quietly. "You know I'll help you with anything, right?"

"I know, Molly, but I can't put you at risk like that. Please tell me about Sherlock. How can I compel him to help me?"

"W-well, he really loves puzzles, but only if they're intriguing enough. He becomes bored fairly easily, so you'd have to catch his attention, I suppose. Present him with a mystery to solve and attract him with your wit and intelligence."

Irene sits at her desk, dutifully writing down all of Molly's suggestions, trying to ignore the feeling that she is betraying Molly's trust. (_It's for you, Molly. Everything has always been for you._)

XXXXX

As much as she wants to detest the man who has stolen Molly's heart, Sherlock Holmes fascinates her.

She and Moriarty fashion a plan to reel him in, starting with a few revealing photographs saved on her camera phone. Mycroft Holmes gets involved, like they predicted he would, and Irene wonders how Sherlock's brother would react if told he is just a pawn in their scheme to reach Sherlock.

Upon her first interaction with the consulting detective, Irene is riveted by his fierce and biting intelligence, underlain with a tendency to forgo any emotional attachments. (_She recognizes this trait in him, as she has been battling with it herself for years._)

He is also very, _very_ fit, and, even though Irene prefers the gracefulness of the female body to the strength of the male, she can appreciate a fine human specimen in any form. His cheekbones alone would be enough to make Irene question her rigid stance on her sexuality, but coupled with his brilliance, she finds him utterly intoxicating.

She mentally applauds herself for outwitting him. (And she knows he has absolutely no clue about her true objective.)

She isn't quite sure why she chooses his name as the passcode for her camera phone. (_It most certainly is _not_ because of the way Molly's eyes would crinkle in delight and humor if she knew._)

XXXXX

A few months pass, and Irene's past comes back to wreak havoc in her well-ordered life. She manages to convince Kate to leave the country for a while, but she is too ensconced in her ploy with Moriarty to do so as well.

A voice seeps into the back of her mind, in that quiet instant between waking and dreaming where one's subconscious has full reign. (_"You know I'll help you with anything, right?"_)

Molly finds her curled up on her front step the next morning. Irene is shivering, poorly-concealed bags visible beneath her eyes. Molly wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her inside, sitting her on the sofa and draping a blanket over her friend.

As Molly turns towards the kitchen, however, Irene grabs her wrist. Molly pivots around, one eyebrow raised in question. "I was just going to make some tea…," she drifts off as she notices Irene's face. "Irene, what's wrong?!"

Irene can feel tears threatening to spill as she gazes up at Molly. "You're the best person I know, Molly. The sweetest, kindest, most sincere woman in the entire world." She brushes a stray strand of hair behind Molly's ear, her fingers grazing Molly's cheek. Her skin is so warm, so smooth, that, for a moment, Irene wishes they could go back to when it was just the pair of them against the world.

Maybe she'd finally be brave enough to confront her feelings for her best friend.

Instead, she returns her hand to her lap, watching as Molly takes a seat beside her. "Irene, talk to me. Please."

"I've done so many horrible things, Molly. Things that would make you hate me and wish you'd never met me. Now, one of my targets has found me. He won't stop coming after me until I'm dead." Irene's voice is quiet, void of any emotion.

Molly reaches out and entwines her fingers with Irene's. "How can I help, Irene? What do you need?"

"If you agree, you'd have to lie to Sherlock Holmes, Molly. I can't ask you to deceive the man you love. Even if he is an arrogant bastard who doesn't deserve you…." Irene is rambling for possibly the first time in her life. Her hands are shaking as she tries to explain the gravity of the situation to Molly.

"Fuck him," Molly interrupts, her lips twisted into a frown. "What do you need?"

"I need you to kill me."

* * *

><p><strong>What did you think? Let me know!<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Here is the final chapter!**

* * *

><p>Molly and Irene spend the next several days huddled in Molly's flat, deciding on the best way to fake Irene's death. They work perfectly in tandem, moving together so effortlessly it is as though they are reading each other's thoughts.<p>

Molly finds a Jane Doe with a body eerily similar to Irene's, while Irene goes to visit her contact in the records office. He practically falls over himself in his haste to assist them, muttering again and again how ardently he desires to please his mistress.

They concur that the only way Sherlock will believe the ruse is if Irene willingly gives up her mobile. (_Irene was right. Molly does laugh at the passcode.)_

Finally, once every possible scenario and outcome has been considered and accounted for, Irene stays in Molly's flat while their plans are put into action.

It is Christmas Eve, and Molly twitters nervously about as she prepares for the 221B Christmas party. Together, they agreed that Molly needed to really wow the detective, throw him off balance to increase their chances of fooling him.

Molly selects a figure-hugging black dress which falls just below her knees and short heels. She leaves her hair down and curled, adorned with a silver Christmas bow. She puts on more makeup than normal (_Irene thinks she looks loveliest without any_), and gold hoop earrings that Irene gave her for her eighteenth birthday.

She finishes off her attire with a bright red lipstick, courtesy of Irene, in the same shade as the gift Molly wrapped for Sherlock. (_"A personalized magnifying glass, Molly? What on earth would he need that for?"_)

Still, Molly looks gorgeous, and she blushes when Irene tells her so.

She walks Molly to the front door, grasping Molly's hand tightly between both of hers. The two women stare at each other as both realize what they are about to do. The time has come for all of their plotting to come to fruition, and there can be no turning back this late in the game.

"Thank you, Molly. For everything."

"I've already told you, Irene. I'd do anything for you. _Anything_." She hugs Irene quickly before rushing out the door, Irene yelling a hurried 'Good luck!' after her.

Irene watches her slide into a cab from the window and sits down on the sofa. There is nothing left for her to do now but wait.

XXXXX

Molly returns several hours later. She's no longer wearing the tight black dress (_And thank god for that small miracle, _Irene thinks to herself), instead in a pair of comfortable trousers and a colorful jumper.

There are also tears streaming down her face.

Irene dashes to Molly's side, helping her remove her warm coat before gripping Molly's face in her hands. "What is it, Molly? What's happened?"

Molly's hands reach up to grasp Irene's wrists, and she looks at Irene through misty eyes. "He… he h-humiliated m-me… in front of all our friends…. And then h-he… he r-recognized you from n-not your face…."

Irene quickly understands the majority of Molly's ordeal, and can't stop the stab of guilt that slices through her. If it wasn't so important that Sherlock Holmes become preoccupied with her, she would go over there and kill him herself. (_I did it for you, Molly. Always for you._)

As it stands, however, all Irene can do is embrace Molly tightly, swaying her gently in the doorway. She runs one hand soothingly through Molly's hair until the pathologist's sobs quiet down, moving them towards Molly's bedroom. She softly coaxes Molly into changing into her pyjamas, and then snuggles with her under several blankets.

They fall asleep facing each other, their pillows pushed as close together as possible. Their current position is reminiscent of many late nights during their university years, and Irene's heart clenches pleasurably at the memory.

She thinks that maybe their relationship isn't as damaged as she imagined.

XXXXX

The next morning, Irene is awoken by sunlight streaming through the bedroom window. One arm is wrapped around Molly's waist, the other clasped tightly in Molly's.

Irene showers while Molly cooks breakfast (simple toast and coffee). They eat in silence, until Molly clears her throat.

"So…," she begins.

"So…?" Irene tilts her head, biting her lip to hide a smile.

"Well… our plan worked well. Sherlock identified the body. For all intents and purposes, you, Irene Adler, are dead." She speaks quietly, softly, probably wondering how Sherlock is so acquainted with her naked torso.

"I didn't have sex with him, Molly," Irene articulates carefully. "I wouldn't do that to you."

"Then how…?"

"I was disrobed when we met. I thought it might baffle him just enough for me to make an impression." Molly's eyes widen. She looks almost cartoonish, and Irene gulps. "I promise you, Molly–"

Molly snickers, quickly stifling it with a hand to her mouth. "S-sorry," she squeaks. "It's just… I wish I could have seen the expression on Sherlock's face!" She dissolves into a fit of giggles, the image of Sherlock in her mind too much for the petite pathologist. Irene has always found Molly's laughter contagious, and today is no exception. They spend the next several moments barreled over in merriment.

Suddenly, Molly goes quiet, pensively staring into space and picking at her cuticles. "I should've known he'd be attracted to someone more like you. You should have seen the way he was beating this corpse with a riding crop, Irene! Of course he'd want someone like you, someone beautiful and confident. Not little old Morbid Molly." Tears threaten to spill again, and Irene wipes them away before they can fall.

"No! I've told you this before, and I will continue to do so until you believe me. You are perfect, Molly Hooper, just as you are! You are worth ten of me, do you understand? One day Sherlock Holmes is going to realize that, and, maybe by then, you'll be the one who doesn't want _him_." Irene brushes her lips against Molly's forehead before drawing back to stare at her.

"Y-you really th-think so, Irene?" Molly breathes out.

"I know so." Irene inhales deeply and sinks back into her chair. She claps her hands together. "Now. Tell me everything that happened last night. Spare no detail, no matter how insignificant you think it was."

They huddle together over the kitchen table for several hours, Molly recounting the previous evening's events. When she learns exactly what Sherlock said to hurt Molly, Irene vows to destroy both him and his meddling brother. Nothing will please her more than to bring them both to their knees.

Hell hath no fury like Irene Adler.

XXXXX

It isn't until she invades 221B that she realizes the truth.

She and Sherlock are staring at each other, each daring the other to blink first. Their discussion is pointless, one more attempt to retrieve her mobile phone from the frustrating detective.

Sherlock deduces that she saved something of great importance on it. He believes she reveals the information unintentionally. (_None of her interactions with Sherlock Holmes have been anything less than meticulously deliberate._)

John Watson casually mentions Molly Hooper. Her face betrays no recognition, but she sees emotion flash in Sherlock's blue-green orbs fleetingly, and she _knows._

Sherlock Holmes cares about Molly, too. Maybe he doesn't love her, not quite, but it's _something_, and Irene cheers for her friend, even as her own heart shatters.

The sentiment is gone just as quickly, but Irene begins to reconsider her hasty assessment of the consulting detective. Perhaps he is more like her than she imagined.

Maybe once this entire ordeal is over, she will actually regret deceiving him.

XXXXX

She knows the exact moment he figures it out.

She is so close to her goal, to accomplishing the task she undertook for Moriarty, when Sherlock jumps up from his reclined position. She isn't looking at him, too focused on her battle of wits with the other Holmes brother, but she can hear his smirk in his tone.

Irene closes her eyes and sighs. The game is over, her foot suspended above the finish line. (_I'm so sorry, Molly._)

She turns to stare at him, the great Sherlock Holmes, desperate for some semblance of control, of power over the current situation. Instead of trembling under his direct gaze, she mocks his arrogance, hoping against all odds that his hubris will be his undoing.

It isn't. (_It's hers._)

He punches his name into the phone, revealing all of the secrets stashed in its memory, as well as taking away any protection she might have bargained for its contents.

"I took your pulse," he whispers into her ear, and his warm breath sends a shiver down her spine, even as his words confuse her. Yes, she finds him unequivocally attractive, with his deep voice and elevated IQ, but not once has she been tempted to actually bed him. The imagined look of betrayal on Molly's face is enough to quell any such thoughts.

The game has never been about them. (_It's always been about her._)

Still, he manages to best her, calling out a flippant apology as he exits the room. She sits back down, gazing at the hands shaking slightly in her lap. She cannot bear to see the smug glint in Mycroft's eyes.

"Well, I would say it's been a pleasure, Miss Adler, but I wouldn't want to insult your intelligence. I suppose you'll want to say goodbye?"

Finally, she lifts her head defiantly. "Yes. She deserves that much, at least."

XXXXX

Irene Adler and Molly Hooper say goodbye for the final time on a Monday.

Irene knocks on her door, two of Mycroft's agents watching from a car nearby. (_"You have twenty minutes,"_ _one of them says as she slides out._)

Molly answers after the third rap, pulling her robe tighter around her body to combat the chill. Her face lights up as she sees Irene, but her smile fades quickly as she notices the expression on her best friend's face. She ushers Irene inside, grabbing a blanket from the sofa to drape around her shoulders.

"Irene, what is it? What's wrong? Did our plan not work?"

Irene brushes Molly's worries aside, draping the blanket against the arm of the sofa. "No, no, it's nothing like that. I just… I have to leave the country again. I don't…. I don't think I'll be coming back this time."

Molly gasps, one hand covering her mouth as moisture wells up in her gorgeous brown eyes.

"Where are you going?" she asks softly.

Irene stares down at the floor, picking at a rip in the blanket.

"Irene?" Molly tries again, gripping Irene's chin and bringing her face up to look into her eyes.

When she sees the sorrowful expression in Irene's gaze, however, she lets go, turning away to hide her tears.

"Molly…," Irene sighs, unsure how to continue. How do you tell the most important person in your life that you will likely never see each other again?

"You're going to die, aren't you? For real this time?"

"Yes," Irene utters, almost inaudibly, but the clenching of Molly's shoulders tells Irene she heard. (_Molly always hears Irene, even when Irene wishes she didn't._) "I've made a lot of enemies over the years, and now it's time to pay for my past transgressions."

"No! Fuck your enemies! Fuck them! They can't take you away from me again!" Molly shouts passionately, her voice rising in volume. She shoots up, running towards her bedroom, grabbing Irene's hand and pulling her along with her. "What do you need? We can sneak out the back, run away where they can't find us! I'm not losing you again!" Molly begins haphazardly throwing clothes into a bag.

"Molly!" The woman in question makes no indication that she heard Irene's shout, so Irene walks over to her friend, grasping her shoulders to still her frantic movements. "Molly," she repeats, quieter this time. "Stop."

Molly stares into Irene's eyes, both women fighting back the urge to sob. Molly's cheeks are still glistening from her earlier crying spell. "You're not going to let me help you this time, are you, Irene?" She pulls away from Irene, plopping down on the edge of her bed.

Irene slowly strides over, taking a seat beside the pathologist.

"I can't, Molly. I made my choices, and now I have to pay the consequences." She covers Molly's hands with one of hers, only mildly surprised when Molly interlocks their fingers. She squeezes Irene's hand, as if by that small gesture she can keep Irene from leaving.

The two women sit together, the silence only interrupted by the occasional sounds of their breathing. Tears roll down Molly's face again, but she makes no move to wipe them away. One drips off the end of her nose, hitting Irene's hand where it is entwined with Molly's.

Molly chokes out a half-sob, half-laugh, and Irene finally tilts her head to look upon the face that has haunted her dreams for nearly twenty years. So much has happened throughout the course of their relationship, but one of the few things that has remained constant is her undying trust and devotion to the woman next to her.

"Molly?"

"Hmm? Oh, don't worry about it. It's stupid." Irene raises one eyebrow. "Oh, fine!" Molly acquiesces, her cheeks blushing a rather becoming shade of pink. "But promise you won't laugh!"

"I would never, Molly!" Irene replies, mildly affronted. She crosses her heart with her free hand for good measure. "I promise."

"V-very well, th-then. I…." She lets out a breathless, self-conscious laugh. "I had a crush on you, when we were in school. B-before we met, I mean. I told you it was silly…."

Irene feels her mouth drop open of its own accord, blind-sided by the confession. Molly Hooper has never failed to surprise her.

"R-really?" Irene stutters finally, dumbfounded. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"

Molly twists her hands nervously in her lap. It's become a habit of hers, one Irene finds increasingly endearing. "W-well…. At first, I thought you were far out of my league. I mean, look at you! And then… then I talked to you, and we became friends, and our bond seemed more important than some silly school girl crush! I didn't want to risk losing what we had. What we still have." She releases Irene's hand, standing up and pacing around the quiet bedroom.

Irene stares at her silently, still processing this revelation, the realization that she could have had everything she ever wanted if she had only been brave enough to ask. She laughs bitterly, the harsh sound filling the air and causing Molly to flinch.

"I'm s-sorry, Irene. L-let's just f-forget I said anything, alright?" Molly makes to walk out of the room but is stopped by Irene's arms wrapping around her shoulders from behind. Her lips brush against Molly's ear, sending a shiver down the shorter woman's spine.

"Molly, I… I love you. I always have," she murmurs, her breath fluttering against the back of Molly's neck.

"I know that, Irene! I love you, too, but –"

"No, Molly. _I love you_." Irene closes her eyes, breathing in Molly's familiar scent. Her mind catalogues every tiny thing about this moment, as it is probably the last she will ever share with her best friend, the one person who knows her better than anyone else, her _soul mate_. "Always."

Molly shifts in her arms until she is staring up at Irene, her eyes almost comically wide. "Oh," she exhales quietly, her gaze never wavering from Irene's.

Irene brings up one hand to stroke Molly's delicate features, her fingers lingering over the warm flush coloring her cheeks. Her eyes flicker to Molly's mouth momentarily before returning to Molly's normally brown eyes, now blown black. Molly lifts an eyebrow, the invitation clear, and Irene is lost.

She desperately presses her lips to Molly's, as though she is drowning and Molly is her lifesaver. (_Perhaps she is. Perhaps she always has been._)

She can taste the salty flavor of tears on her lips, and isn't sure if they are hers or Molly's. (_Probably both._) She draws back slightly, unsure if she should continue, but Molly pushes forward and connects their mouths again. Irene groans when she feels Molly's tongue on her bottom lip, asking for entrance to battle with hers.

She quickly complies, one hand moving to tangle in Molly's hair as the other travels beneath Molly's robe, seeking skin to skin contact. When she finds it, Molly shows her appreciation by tightening her grip on Irene's waist. Irene takes the opportunity to slide the robe off of Molly's shoulders, leaving her in only a tight tank top and shorts.

She isn't sure how long they stand there, giving in to the sexual tension that has underlain all of their interactions for years, but Irene revels in the sensation of finally kissing Molly Hooper. She tastes sweet, better than her imagination had conjured, and the moans coming from deep in her throat set Irene's heartbeat racing sporadically.

She feels like she is on fire, the culmination of years of pining and loving this woman almost too much to handle. It feels like coming home, like they have finally arrived at a point they have been steadily approaching since the day they first spoke. It feels right, more than anything else ever has.

It also feels like goodbye.

Molly begins pushing her backwards, towards her queen-sized bed, covered in a bright yellow duvet that is so typically _Molly_ that Irene wants to cry every time she gazes upon it. Irene submits. (_She's never been able to say no to Molly, even when she wants to_.)

Unfortunately, the moment is interrupted by a loud banging on Molly's door. "Open up!" a deep, masculine voice calls out, impatience dripping from his tone. He follows the command with another aggravated knock.

The two women pull away from each other, breathing heavily and staring into the other's eyes. They quickly stumble to the door, Molly pulling it open as she tries to calm her shaky hands.

"You ready?" the man barks at Irene, who is still eyeing Molly intently. She nods, gaze unwavering, as she walks hesitantly towards the door. Just as she is about to step through, however, a warm hand grasps her wrist.

"Irene…," Molly utters softly, her eyes loaded with enough emotion to nearly bowl Irene over. Electricity crackles between them, the tension so thick that Molly could cut it with one of her scalpels.

Irene reaches over, dragging Molly's hand away from her arm. Molly's lips are still swollen from their passionate embrace, her hair mussed from Irene's wandering hands. The dominatrix leans forward and places one final kiss to Molly's forehead. "Goodbye, Molly Hooper. Don't forget about me," she whispers into Molly's skin.

She hears Molly's mumbled "Never," as she pulls away and shuts the door behind her.

She pretends she can't hear Molly's muffled sobs as she follows Mycroft's man, silent tears sliding down her cheeks. As the car drives away, she allows herself one glance back at Molly's flat and the life they could have led together.

XXXXX

Sherlock Holmes saves Irene Adler's life on a Wednesday.

She is forced to her knees, a cluster of black-clad men looming over her. She sends off a final text message to the consulting detective, closes her eyes, and thinks of Molly Hooper.

Visions of past, present, and future jumble together, weaving a kaleidoscope of memories and dreams. Irene knows that Molly would look lovely in white, with a thin veil attempting to hide her bright smile, as she waltzes down the aisle surrounded by her friends and family.

Irene inhales sharply, tensing her shoulders in anticipation of the split-second of pain before they end her life.

It is Molly's smiling face she's focusing on, her laughter ringing in Irene's ears, when she hears it. She has almost forgotten about changing his ringtone, a joke meant to reel him in.

Her eyes shoot open, and she exhales in relief. Her mouth lights up in the first smile she's worn since leaving Molly's flat.

XXXXX

"I have to admit, I wasn't expecting you to show up," she says with a smirk, once they are safely ensconced in a hotel room in Karachi.

"Well, it is my fault your security was taken away. Seemed the right thing to do," he responds, fingers steepled in a position she recognizes from her few encounters with him.

"The right thing to do?" Irene scoffs, raising one eyebrow in disbelief. "Since when does Sherlock Holmes care about doing the 'right thing'?"

He looks away briefly, contemplating his rebuttal. Finally, he clears his throat. "It would appear that we have a… mutual acquaintance. She has been visibly distraught since your exile from London."

The smirk leaves her mouth as she bites her lip. She can imagine Molly's red-rimmed eyes, her hunched posture, the loss of the lively disposition that has always been associated with her best friend. Guilt eats away at her core, threatening to overwhelm her once more.

"Is she… will she be okay?" She raises her eyes to meet his. For the first time, he wears no mask, makes no attempt to hide the emotions swirling in his stormy gaze.

"Obviously, Miss Adler. Molly Hooper has always been stronger than either of us."

Irene lets out a half-hearted laugh, because, _of course_ Molly will be fine. She's never needed other people to care for her, unlike the two of them. Molly has always taken care of herself.

"How long have you been in love with her?" His deep baritone holds no trace of contempt, only curiosity.

"I don't know," she responds quietly. "She creeps up on you. One day, I woke up to the realization that she was no longer simply my closest friend."

She blinks once. Twice. "How long have you been in love with her, Mr. Holmes?"

The corner of his mouth lifts up in a smile. "I don't know. She creeps up on you." They share a meaningful look, words and feelings passing unspoken between them.

"I was never going to have sex with you, you know," she utters into the silence. "There's something vaguely unsettling about the fact that we would both be thinking of someone else."

"Yes, I suppose you're right, Miss Adler." He drums his fingers against his pant leg as his eyes fix on a point just past her shoulder.

"She loves you." His head shoots back to her at the confession. "You can't honestly tell me you're shocked by that, Mr. Holmes?!"

"She loves you, too."

She tries to keep the bitterness out of her voice as she answers. "Yes, but we both know I'm not what she needs, now don't we?"

He levels her with a pitying look, and she turns her head. She doesn't need his pity. She needs his assurance that Molly will be kept safe. "You may not be an angel, Mr. Holmes, but I've made far too many deals with the devil to warrant a happy ending. The villain always gets her comeuppance in the end."

She waits another beat before she continues. "You've struck James Moriarty's fancy. He won't stop until he's destroyed you and everything you care about. She will be kept safe, Mr. Holmes? Can you promise me that much?"

He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly in his throat. "No harm shall come to Molly Hooper. You have my word."

"Good. Because you won't like the consequences if any harm comes to her because of the little game you two are playing. You have _my_ word on that."

Sherlock nods and stands abruptly, retrieving his bag from the floor beside him. "Good luck, Miss Adler."

"Thank you," she replies kindly, grinning at him. He strides to the door, stopping when she calls out. "Oh, and Mr. Holmes?" He pivots, one hand on the door frame as he looks at her.

"I'm sure you've realized by this point that I had some assistance faking my death. We were able to fool even the great consulting detective himself. If, for any reason, you ever need to fake your own, you know who to ask."

XXXXX

Irene Adler sees Molly Hooper for the last time on a Saturday.

It's a beautiful May afternoon, sun shining down on a grassy hillside. It alights the brilliant blues and gorgeous purples of the wildflowers, spinning a stunning, picturesque image. A cool breeze gently blows the flowers back and forth.

It is the perfect setting for a wedding.

It is also exactly as Molly described when she told Irene of her dream wedding day.

Irene knows she shouldn't be here. Her agreement with the American Witness Protection Program includes never returning to her home country, but she can't stop herself when she receives the request from Sherlock Holmes.

(_Molly Elizabeth Hooper and William Sherlock Scott Holmes cordially invite you…._)

Standing at the top of the hill, she can see the private party assembled below. She watches with rapture as Sherlock spins Molly around the makeshift dance floor, her beaming smile apparent even from this distance. Irene turns back to look at Kate, who ushers her forward. _Go on, then_, she seems to say.

Cautiously, Irene trudges down, taking care not to be seen by any of the wedding guests. In her hands she holds a long, thin box covered with white paper, accented with a bright yellow bow. (_In her mind, the color yellow will always be Molly's._) A small, white envelope sits on top, the words 'To the happy bride' scribbled in Irene's elegant script.

She sets the gift on the table in front of Molly's chair. Selfishly, she wants to see the expression on Molly's face when she opens it. While not a conventional present, by any means, Irene knows that both Molly and Sherlock will get great use out of it. Running one long, red nail across the box, she gazes at her former best friend.

She takes one last, mental photograph and walks back to where Kate is waiting.

At the conclusion of their dance, Molly pulls Sherlock back to their table, fanning herself with her hands. Sherlock kisses her mouth quickly and wraps one arm around her shoulder. Irene doesn't think she's ever seen him smile so much, or so openly.

They both pause when they notice the box, gazing around as if they can spot whoever left it. Seeing the envelope, however, Molly lets out a gasp, and her hands are shaking as she rips it open.

Tears well up as she reads the note, and she begins scanning the crowd of guests, trying to find her supposedly-dead best friend. Sherlock scrutinizes the letter over Molly's shoulder, grip tightening as he realizes what she holds in her hands.

_My dearest Molly,_

_I've heard it said that people come into our lives for a reason, bringing something we must learn. And we are led, to those who help us most to grow, if we let them, and we help them in return._

_I stole that from a musical Kate dragged me to see a few years ago, but it doesn't make the sentiment any less true. I've never been one to believe in fate, but I know that I was destined to become your friend. To love you. I always have, and I always will. I wouldn't be the person I am today if I had never met you, Molly. I like to think I left an impression on you, as well. I will forever cherish the time we spent together and wish we could have had decades more._

_I am certain there are going to be moments when your insecurities get the better of you, when you question whether you deserve to be with someone as intoxicating as Sherlock Holmes. They will try to convince you that your light pales in comparison to his. Fuck them, Molly. You shine brighter than anyone else, a beacon of hope in an otherwise shadowy world. You deserve happiness and love, to have everything your heart desires. Never question your worth, Molly, because, to at least two people, you are everything._

_I realize this letter may come as a shock to you, since Irene Adler is legally dead (twice, now). Please don't blame your new husband for keeping this secret from you. Everything we've done has been to keep you safe from harm._

_If you must punish him, however, I've given you something that may help. Use it wisely._

_I love you, Molly Hooper, and wish you the very best._

_Love,_

_Irene_

Molly covers her mouth with one hand, and her tears fall freely. Sherlock embraces her tightly, planting a kiss to her temple. He whispers something into her hair, and she laughs through her sobs, setting the note down on the table. She turns her head into his shoulder, seeking comfort in her husband's arms.

After a few minutes, she pulls away slightly, though Sherlock's arms remain locked around her. Glancing around, she hastily slashes the paper off of Irene's present, removing the bow and carefully placing it aside.

Irene smirks as Molly opens the box, slamming it shut after she peers inside. Molly's face flushes a deep crimson as she peeps around furtively, checking that no one else is paying attention. Sherlock raises one eyebrow, contemplating the utility of such an item. He laughs, earning a playful slap from Molly in retaliation.

Finally, Molly's head turns up at just the right angle, and her eyes widen as they lock with Irene's. The latter raises a hand in acknowledgement, grinning fondly. In turn, Molly points to the box, rolling her eyes. Irene can hear the exasperated "Really, Irene?!" as though Molly actually states it. (_But then again, Irene's always been able to hear everything Molly leaves unspoken._)

Irene opens the car door, gazing back at her best friend. Molly waves, a bittersweet smile lighting up her face. Irene slides into the passenger seat, banging the door closed behind her.

"Did she like the riding crop?" Kate asks knowingly.

Irene turns to her as she dons her sunglasses, the car pulling away from the cheerful gathering below. She smirks before replying. "Oh she's going to have so much fun with it."

* * *

><p><strong>I must say, I am extremely proud of this story. It's the most challenging thing I've ever written, but it's also my favorite, I think. I'm not sure if I filled the prompt adequately, and I'm questioning the ending, but, overall, I love this. I found it extremely rewarding to step into Irene's mind for awhile. We know so little about her. I hope you didn't find her OOC.<strong>

**As always, I love hearing your thoughts, so please take the time to review!**


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